


Want You Bad (A This Is How All My Dreams Start remix)

by KimliPan



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2016 Camelot Remix, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Musicians, One Shot, Remix, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimliPan/pseuds/KimliPan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine is a rockstar. Leon finds that hot. Very hot. But ultimately, Gwaine isn't quite what he expected. (But he is, definitely, still hot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want You Bad (A This Is How All My Dreams Start remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rameau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rameau/gifts).
  * Inspired by [This Is How All My Dreams Start](https://archiveofourown.org/works/461085) by [rameau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rameau/pseuds/rameau). 



> This is a remix of [rameau's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rameau/pseuds/rameau/works?fandom_id=232768) fic, which was amazingly sexy and delightful and I truly hope this lives up to it. Rockstar Gwaine is a necessary element in anyone's life. And of course, I will always work with the Hair Pair as you called it, if given the chance! Please read the original!
> 
> The title is from an Offspring song titled Want You Bad. I listened to The Offspring obsessively while I was writing this.
> 
> And a thank you to the lovely [TheBorgiasDevil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBorgiasDevil/pseuds/TheBorgiasDevil) for betaing for me. Love you babe!

Leon’s hands are shaking deep in his pockets the first time he sees Gwaine. He’s just come into Central on the trains and hopped right onto the Bakerloo without first stopping for a smoke. It’s at _least_ another twenty minutes until his stop and, sitting back with his ankle resting on his knee, he gazes across the low, squat interior of the train at the leather-clad creature across from him.

He’s like something stuck out of time; Leon can picture him right smack on the cover of an old issue of the Rolling Stone, with his wear-worn black denim, torn at the knees, and his silver-metal-lined leather jacket, rugged five o’clock shadow and his long, carefree dark hair. It was too much to exist in this decade, but somehow sitting on the dated seating with his eyes off dramatically in the middle-distance, he’s picture-perfect. Leon lets out a shaky breath and thinks to himself, _I bet he’s a good fuck_ , as he fingers the ready-rolled fag in his jacket.

The train stops and Gwaine gives up his seat for a mother and her three children. Leon breathes a light laugh and sits upright, staring now instead at the child’s little foot kicking the bottom of the seat.

God, he needs a light.

* * *

Leon doesn’t pay much attention to the band. Maybe they’re not bad, but he’s waiting for Elyan to show. And anyway, he can only hear the blaring bass thump when steps outside and stands there with cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

When Elyan does show up, they shoot straight for the bar. It’s been a long day, Elyan says, and he needs a pint in him if he wants to make it through the night. Leon certainly won’t argue.

Once he leans back with an elbow on the bar and his heel hooked onto the base of the stool, he finally looks up at the players. Interesting. He smiles, his eyes roving up and down the guitarist’s lithe-looking body. His jacket’s off now, draped over the mic stand, and his biceps do not disappointment. They make brief eye contact, but Leon doesn’t suspect he recognizes him.

So he hadn’t been wrong in placing the bloke on the Tube as an old-time rocker. Even now, calmed by the nicotine in his veins, he still thinks about the quality of a good, fervent, rushed fuck from the man on the stage. He very much likes what he sees.

He leans over to Elyan and asks, “Which one’s your friend?”

Elyan uses the barstool as a boost and points to the big guy at the back wailing on the drums. “Percy, the drummer,” he says, and Leon takes a nice, long swill of his drink. He could get into the rhythm of this, he thinks as he soaks in the music.

“The guitarist.” He gestures to the stage with his pint. Elyan gives a knowing smirk and raises a brow, but Leon finishes his question, undeterred: “He single?”

“I guess we’ll have to ask.”

* * *

Leon is used to fervour. He’s used to the quick fuck of a man who wants to get off and get out. That’s what he expects when he pushes Gwaine back against his own bedroom door, pressing their mouths together in a drunken hunger. Gwaine’s stubble is pleasingly course. It scratches against his lips sending an electric excitement prickling down his spine that settles deep in his groin.

But Gwaine is patient. He’s careful. Leon wouldn’t quite describe this as tender, but there’s no rush, no selfish neediness. He lets Leon kiss him, lets him explore his body.

So he slows down.

He leaves Gwaine up against the door, chest bare, lips swollen.

“Alright, mate?” Gwaine asks, and Leon rests both his hands on the rocker’s chest, watching his skin change to red underneath his nails.

“I’d say,” he answers, and Gwaine laughs.

* * *

The next time they meet is out back at Percy’s in the garden. Leon’s lighting up when the door opens and he looks over. It’s Gwaine. He smiles, and Leon can’t help but give a small one in return.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Leon says, holding up his lighter as a gesture of goodwill. “Need a light?”

“Oh, no, no. Don’t smoke.” Leon’s not surprised, he couldn’t find anywhere to put his cigarette out the night they fucked at Gwaine’s. It’s still odd, he thinks; nothing about him is as he looks.

Leon shrugs and takes a nice, deep, calming drag. He holds it in as he watches Gwaine, wondering if he should speak first.

“You left before I could get your number.”

Leon shrugs and lets the smoke out and watches Gwaine pull his phone from his pocket. The thing’s archaic, scratched to hell, and Leon wonders what kinds of beatings it’s seen. He finds it endearing.

“Didn’t think you’d want it,” he answers as he takes it from Gwaine to add himself to the contacts.

“You were wrong, then.”

When Gwaine takes it back, he touches the back of Leon’s hand. Gentle and warm. He’s so oddly unlike Leon expects. It brings a heat to his cheeks he can’t explain even to himself.

* * *

Leon comes when Gwaine calls. He stays as long as he wills, and leaves when he’s had enough. It’s taken a lot of getting used to, the kind of attention to detail Gwaine gives. He never lets things be bad.

Leon understands this now. He understand that Gwaine is a showman, that his roguishness is a part of his act. But here, in bed, with his hands linked behind his head on the pillow as he grins up at Leon – this was the real man behind the walls.

“The tray is a nice touch,” Leon says, stubbing his cigarette out on the clean dish.

“Don’t take it as encouragement,” Gwaine says, pulling on Leon’s arms. Leon climbs on top of him and runs his fingers through his hair, thinking on when he first saw him on the train. The thought of how _tough_ he imagined this man is laughable now.

He dips down to kiss the side of Gwaine’s throat, nipping and kissing the sweaty, swollen bitemark from last night. “I would never,” he breathes, taking in the very essence of Gwaine and letting it soak his raw lungs. Maybe Gwaine’s right. Maybe he should quit.

They have enough time for another round before Gwaine’s next gig, but Leon’s gone before he gets back.

 


End file.
